


Now Let's Try It

by satonawall



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3527015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satonawall/pseuds/satonawall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana doesn’t want to be Tina’s friend’s date to said friend’s ex-boyfriend’s wedding. At least at first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now Let's Try It

“Please,” Tina said. “They’ll have a chocolate fountain there. I know how much you love a good chocolate fountain.”  
  
Santana looked up from her book to glare at Tina. “I’m not an escort and your friend can’t pay me in chocolate.”  
  
“C’mon, Santana.” Tina’s voice took a more pleading tone. “Don’t think of it like that. Just view it as a blind date that I set up for you, with my cool friend I think you’d really like.”  
  
“A blind date to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding. You’re right, sounds very cool.”  
  
“Brittany broke it off back then, and she and Mercedes are friends. It won’t be like that.”  
  
Santana sighed, setting the book aside. “She’s going to bring a woman as her date to his ex-boyfriend’s wedding after she broke up with said boyfriend because he was a huge dick about her telling him she’s bi. What, exactly, is making you think it won’t be like that?”  
  
She kind of felt sorry for this Brittany person. Personally, her advice would have been to skip the wedding altogether and send the happy couple a present from a distance if she really wanted, but apparently, Brittany hadn’t made avoidance into an art form like that.

“Sam’s learnt something,” Tina said. “Plus, he’s so in love with Mercedes he probably won’t even notice there are guests there.”

Santana shook her head.

“I’ll do your laundry for the next month.” Now she definitely was doing her last chance pleading routine. “And I’ll buy you that take-out pasta you like.”

“Fine.” Santana sighed. “My laundry for the next month, and two take-out pasta meals. And I get to pick the sauce.”

If nothing else, she’d get to watch a train wreck from close-by without being bothered by the fact that she knew any of those people well.

—-

It rained the morning of the wedding, and Santana almost hoped the whole thing would have been cancelled. No such luck, though; the only change due to the rain was that Santana was now searching for a yellow umbrella instead of a yellow dress in front of the church, which probably made it a lot easier because everyone and their mother owned a black umbrella.

Once Santana finally spotted a yellow umbrella in the crowd, she was not really surprised to note that the woman holding it was dressed in another (clashing) shade of yellow, complete with white polka dots and a bright red belt, not to mention the loose-knit fuzzy cardigan that looked a lot like someone had slaughtered a llama and made the monstrosity to celebrate that feat.

Somehow, the ensemble looked coherent, quirky and kind of cute.

“Brittany?” Santana said, her umbrella knocking against the yellow material.

Brittany looked up and smiled brightly at her. “Santana. Great to meet you, I thought the fog fairies might have whisked you away.”

Santana blinked. “Um, no.”

“We should probably get in,” Brittany said, pointing her umbrella slightly towards the church doors. “Mercedes said that Sam’s cousins from Kentucky rented a minibus so that they could all come, and they smell of corn and are super mean so I don’t want to sit next to them.”

Santana shrugged – sounded like valid reasoning – and followed Brittany inside, happily not having to introduce herself to anyone.

They found a nice spot next to Tina and Mike, who’d come earlier to help decorate the church, and, as Brittany whispered in her ear, far away from Sam’s cousins.

“Is that him?” Santana whispered back a few minutes later, nodding towards a blonde guy in a surprisingly fitting tux who looked like he was about to hyperventilate any second and had just appeared by the altar.

Brittany nodded. “That’s Sam.”

They had probably made a cute couple, Santana thought, if by cute you meant the most disgustingly cookie-cutter all-American couple ever from a fifties newspaper ad trying to sell you DDT to spray on your roses.

She kind of wanted to tell Brittany she could do better, but Brittany was friends with the bride; Santana was here to enjoy the train wreck, not to be in the centre of it.

—-

The ceremony was nice enough, and at least the bride looked stunning (she, too, probably could have done better, but going by the lovey-dovey eyes going on between the two, Santana really shouldn’t point that out to her).

To get to the hotel where the reception was held, they squeezed into a taxi with Tina and Mike, but at least Santana didn’t have to pay for it. Instead, she spent the journey listening to Brittany talk about what Santana was at least 75% certain were dance moves.

She did like Brittany, she had to admit. She was weird, there was no way around it, but she was sincere and pleasant company, and she wouldn’t tell Tina but somewhere between the third traffic light and the seventh time Tina accidentally elbowed her, Santana stopped feeling annoyed that she’d come.

They had been seated in a different table from Mike and Tina, full of people that Santana didn’t know and Brittany didn’t seem to want to talk to.

“Those are the cousins,” Brittany whispered in her ear and nodded towards the other end of the table.”

Santana gave them a quick look. “They do look like they’ve just come from Kentucky in a minibus.”

“They’re the worst,” Brittany told her solemnly. “But I hope Sam’s grandma brought some of her cheese, it’s really good and I envy her mice.”

The speeches were boring and the servers stingy with the sparkling wine, but Brittany kept whispering little nuggets of information to her about the guests, and by the time the best man stood up, the fuzziness of Brittany’s cardigan had begun to feel downright pleasant against Santana’s bare arm and the brush of Brittany’s nose against her cheek at least as intriguing as the stories she was telling.

The meal was good – and mercifully large – and if you ignored the rest of the table (who as far as Santana bothered to listen were comparing who had the biggest tractor; she kind of wanted to tell them all just to whip it out and measure) and only concentrated on Brittany, the conversation was nice, too.

“I’m a dancer,” she told Santana when they were queuing for the mains.

“I know.” Santana couldn’t explain to herself why she was smiling. “Tina knows you from dance class.”

“No,” Brittany said. “I mean, yes she does, but she’s a singer and an actor who takes dance classes. I’m a dancer.”

“You’ll have to show your skills to me later.” Santana gave her her most dazzling smile. “I used to do a little dancing in high school, but I’m pretty rusty.”

“It’s all about the right partner.” Brittany glanced back to where Sam was laughing at something Mercedes had just said. “The right partner won’t step on your feet even if they’re a terrible dancer.”

Santana looked down at her stiletto heels and brushed her hand against Brittany’s, not quite daring to hold it, even for a moment. “I’m mean, but not that mean.”

“I know.” Brittany smiled at her, her fingers in turn brushing against Santana’s hand. “I have secret contact lenses that show me people in their true colours.”

—-

As the first dance revealed, Sam was indeed quite an abysmal dancer, but at least Mercedes’s white shoes were still without telling footprints by the end of it.

“Told you,” Brittany said, and this time, Santana did reach for her hand as other couples began slowly making their way to the dance floor.

“You promised to show me your skills, c’mon.”

It had been a while since Santana had last waltzed (at some distant relative’s wedding, probably, and her family had always known how much alcohol was needed to keep the guests happy so her memories were quite foggy), and if it wasn’t for Brittany patiently steering her where no one else was at the moment, Santana was quite sure she’d have accidentally tripped someone with her legs. She did make a point to avoid Brittany’s feet, though, even if that meant that she spent the first two dances staring at the floor.

They stopped when the music did, but when it began again, Brittany didn’t move.

“Don’t raise your legs,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because dancing with someone is not about the steps.” Brittany pulled her hand from around Santana’s waist to bring it to her chin, tilting it up so that Santana was looking Brittany right in the eye. “Look at me, and move your feet but not up.”

Santana did as instructed, and slowly, Brittany began guiding her around the floor, their eyes never leaving each other.

“I feel like I’m at a high school dance,” Santana said. “Half the women are wearing unflattering pastel colours and pretty much none of the men have clothes that fit, and I’ve been led to believe that dragging your feet to the music is the height of slow dancing.”

Brittany moved a little closer. “There was no one in my high school like you.”

“I could say the same.”

She squeezed Brittany’s hand a little tighter.

“Did you know,” Brittany said as the song changed again, “that dancing is just sex standing up and with your clothes on?”

Santana let out a quick laugh. “I’ve heard that quote.”

“We’re really good dance partners.” Brittany swallowed. “I wish you were my real girlfriend so I could kiss you now. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Taking a deep breath, Santana looked around. “Everyone here thinks I am. We can kiss all you like.”

Brittany looked away. “We can’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to stop in three hours.”

No one seemed to be paying any attention to their discussion. Good. “We don’t have to.” Santana squeezed Brittany’s hand, giving her a hopeful smile. “Tina promised me two meals from this one pasta place that I really like if I came here as your date today. Wanna share, say, next Friday at six?”

Brittany’s smile grew slowly, but that just made watching it a greater pleasure. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She felt like her eyes were shining, which should have been a stupid feeling but wasn’t. “Really.”

Abruptly, Brittany let go of Santana’s waist and began walking away, pulling Santana along with the hand that was still holding Santana’s.

“I was here folding napkins yesterday,” she said just as Santana was about to ask what was going on, “and I think that room is empty.”

Santana caught up with her, intertwining her fingers with Brittany’s so that Brittany was no longer pulling her inasmuch as they were walking side by side.

“Lead the way.”

By the time they returned to the party, Sam and Mercedes had already left, but at least no one needed more than a glance at their slightly rumpled outfits, hastily redone hairdos and the way they kept looking at each other with small smiles on their faces to verify that they most definitely had given up on faking anything some time ago.


End file.
